18th Sunday after Pentecost
Peanuts by Charles M. Schulz is, of course, an American classic. It’s one of the longest running syndicated cartoons in history, spanning fifty years of original production from October 2, 1950, to February 13, 2000. Since then, its continued to be published as reruns.
One of the unique things about Peanuts is that, even though it’s a cartoon about children, adults make only very rare appearances in it. When asked about this, Charles Schulz replied that grown-ups just did not interest him. The absence of adults gives Peanuts a unique point of view, namely that of children, rather than children from an adult's viewpoint.
This perspective was carried over into the television programs, as well. At least, that was the case with the first one “A Charlie Brown Christmas”. When adult voices were to be heard they again wanted it to be from the child’s perspective, so the adults didn’t communicate with any real words. Instead, music director Vince Guaraldi hit upon the idea of having a trombone played with a rubber mute to represent the adult voice. And it communicates the child’s perspective perfectly. The droning adult voice that is there, but never really says anything that makes much sense. Just “Wah, wah-wah, wah-wah, wah, wah, wah“.
It’s not a whole lot different than how the disciples apparently listen to Jesus. When reading the lesson for today it’s important to remember that it picks up exactly where last week’s lesson left off. As a result, the conversation between John and Jesus appears to us to be disjointed, with Jesus’ response making little sense.
And yet, when taken as a whole we see that it’s really John who isn’t making much sense.
30 They went on from there and passed through Galilee. He did not want anyone to know it; 31 for he was teaching his disciples, saying to them, “The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.” 32 But they did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him.
33 Then they came to Capernaum; and when he was in the house he asked them, “What were you arguing about on the way?” 34 But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest. 35 He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” 36 Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, 37 “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”
38 John said to him, “Teacher, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he was not following us.” 39 But Jesus said, “Do not stop him; for no one who does a deed of power in my name will be able soon afterward to speak evil of me. 40 Whoever is not against us is for us. 41 For truly I tell you, whoever gives you a cup of water to drink because you bear the name of Christ will by no means lose the reward.
42 “If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea. (Mark 9:30-42)
It’s as though John isn’t even listening. Like he’s zoned out and all he hears is, “Wah, wah-wah, wah-wah, wah, wah, wah “. So, Jesus takes John’s detour, puts him in his place, and then gets back to the theme at hand: namely, the child who is still before them. The one whom Jesus placed in their midst in the reading from last week.
But John’s not the only one who zones out. We do the same thing, and the place where we do it is immediately following the detour Jesus makes with John. “43If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off; it is better for you to enter life maimed than to have two hands and to go to hell, to the unquenchable fire. 45And if your foot causes you to stumble, cut it off; it is better for you to enter life lame than to have two feet and to be thrown into hell. 47And if your eye causes you to stumble, tear it out; it is better for you to enter the kingdom of God with one eye than to have two eyes and to be thrown into hell, 48where their worm never dies, and the fire is never quenched.” By the time we get to “And if your foot causes you to stumble…” all we hear anymore is “Wah, wah-wah, wah-wah, wah, wah, wah.” Because Jesus is clearly being hyperbolic here. We can’t believe that he actually means that we should be willing to cut off a hand, or a foot, or that we should be prepared to pluck out our own eye. And so we tune it out, and it becomes nothing more than white noise.
The problem is that if, because of its hyperbolic nature, we dismiss out of hand what Jesus has to say we run the risk of all too easily dismissing the point that Jesus is making. The purpose of the hyperbole is to make clear exactly what’s at stake, here. It points to a truth that must be taken seriously. Not only must we beware that we don’t place a stumbling block before others, causing them to fall in their faith and possibly denying them the opportunity for ministry, to which they are uniquely qualified and called. We must also beware that we don’t behave in ways which are destructive to our own faith.
If repetition is any indicator of relative importance, then all the more is the reason to make sure that we don’t zone out on Jesus and fail to hear what he’s saying. He warns once against placing a stumbling block before “one of these little ones”. Anyone who does that deserves to swim with the fishes. But he warns us three times against causing ourselves to stumble. “43If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off…, if your foot causes you to stumble, cut it off…, if your eye causes you to stumble, pluck it out…”
The point Jesus is making, here, is that discipleship is not an easy thing, and we bear a communal responsibility to see to it that we not only work on our own path of discipleship, but that we also do nothing to hinder someone else’s journey. In other words, we are all in this together.
Throughout the course of the COVID pandemic, I have heard a lot of people expressing their concern for the future of the church in general and Calvary in particular. It’s a concern that’s rooted in the deep love you have for this place and what it means for you in your lives.
I recently read an article by a pastor named Rob Dyer. Reflecting upon the impact that COVID has had upon congregations, he wrote the following:
The story many are not acknowledging is that we are a traumatized people. For each and every one of us – all at once – our world stopped. And, now, every single person – from the ones present to the ones we claim to miss to the ones we don’t even know yet – everyone is recovering from a shared trauma. The events we’ve walked through have had many questioning their livelihoods, their safety, and their relationships.
And if the church hasn’t offered answers for those questions yet, then we need to figure out how to do so now. We need to figure out what it means to be a spiritual trauma center for our communities. We need to reintroduce ourselves as a place that can tend to the wounds this pandemic has opened. Each church needs to consider how they might evangelize to their neighbors (and some of their own members) – almost as if they were launching a new church in 2021.
But what we do know is that the future of the church will require innovative changes. We have experienced how developing healthy systems is essential for all church seasons to not just survive – but thrive – and it’s time to admit we cannot move forward with our pre-pandemic approaches.
The need for a major pivot is before us, and we know that God will provide for the times and places where we are found. Therefore, let us walk into this valley with eyes wide open, ready to step forward with intention, believing in the presence of the Good Shepherd, the proximity of green pastures, the provided meal amongst adversity, the anointing of our heads, the overflowing of our cups, and our place in the House of the Lord forever.
So, how do we respond? How do we do that? We do it collectively, as a congregation, and we do it individually. Collectively, as a congregation, we need to make it clear that Calvary is a safe space. It’s a place where those in need of healing will never be shamed or belittled or blamed for their need for healing. That means that in our theology, God is not the source of our woundedness and suffering. We do not believe in an abusive God. There are two phrases which you will never hear me or Pastor Anke say when you come to us to talk about your suffering. You will never hear us say that your suffering “must have happened for a reason.” You will also never hear us say that “God won’t give you more than you can handle.” Both of these sayings imply that God is somehow the cause of our suffering.
The fact of the matter is that we live in a broken, imperfect world. In this world accidents happen, and people are injured or die. In this world cells mutate and grow into cancer. In this world diseases can spread with blinding speed. In this world people get sick and they die. In each of these instances, the cause is not divine will but the brokenness of the world and how it inexorably expresses itself in our human, imperfect lives.
Through the suffering and death of Jesus, God not only understands our suffering. God enters directly into our suffering with us. God suffers with us. Trusting in Jesus’ word in the Gospel of John, that he came into the world that we may have life and have it abundantly (John 10:10), we know that God’s love and grace have the power to sustain us, to help us to find meaning in our suffering, and to bring about a deeper understanding of God’s love and grace.
Individually, we need to be able to trust that we will encounter in this place a God of compassion, love, and healing. That sense of trust is essential, because true healing means that we need to be able to be honest about our own wounds and suffering. We need to be honest with ourselves about them. We need to be honest with God about them. And we need to be honest with each other about them. I’ll go first. I am exhausted a lot of the time. I’m tired of the stress-induced dreams. I, too, worry more than I’d like to admit about the future of Calvary. I mourn the loss of more casual physical contact with others; handshakes, embracing, etc. I’m tired of worrying about my parents. And I’ve developed insomnia. Most nights, now, I have to make myself go to bed. And even then, I often can’t fall asleep.
But then, I see what’s going on. Financially, Calvary is doing alright. We’re not in as strong a position as we were prior to the pandemic, but we’ve faired pretty well, especially in comparison to a lot of other congregations.
God’s creative spirit is alive and well, here, leading us to adapt and change as we move forward, so that we continue to be able to offer meaningful ministry. This is what the LEAD process is all about. And helping you to discover your passions and how they fit into the life and mission of Calvary is a big part of that.
I have personally experienced the love, care, and compassion of the people here at Calvary. They are, without doubt, the instruments of God’s healing life-giving spirit.
Yes, we have had a lot to deal with over the past 20 months. Yes, we have experienced a collective trauma that this community, this country, this world has not experienced in a long time. Yes, we are in need of healing. Yes, there is a lot about the future which remains unknown and unknowable.
But over the course of the past 20 months, God has helped me to discover within myself a level of resilience that I did not realize I possess. I have seen how God has blessed this community with a well of resilience that runs deeper, still. And because of God’s gracious teaching spirit, I have learned to have greater compassion for myself and for those around me. And all of this has happened through God working through you, my siblings in Christ. You have taught me resilience. You have taught me compassion. You have brought to me healing. Thanks be to God.
AMEN